


To See You Again

by 3988Akasha



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville catches an all-too-willing Miles and takes him to Sebastian. Miles and Sebastian work through Miles leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To See You Again

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd and greatly helped by the amazing bones_2_be
> 
> This is how I imagine the encounter if Miles had been captured after diffusing the bomb in Episode 5.

Miles didn't fight them as they locked the handcuffs around his wrists. He didn't struggle as he was manhandled onto the train. Most of these men only knew him by reputation, stories they'd heard about him. No doubt they used more force than necessary to show their bravado, to mask their fear. If they'd believed the stories then they knew Miles Matheson was never captured. Miles Matheson was never taken by force. He'd heard the stories enough himself from his hideout behind the bar. He'd scoffed the first time he'd heard them; they made him sound like a god.

He didn't speak to anyone as they rode the train to Philadelphia. Miles never thought he'd be on a train again. Sure, Bass had talked about it, made plans for it, but Miles had figured it was all a pipe dream, one that helped Bass sleep at night. He knew differently now. Bass' dreams had a pesky way of becoming reality.

"We're nearly to Philadelphia."

Miles didn't respond; he was happy they were almost there. The cuffs were beginning to chafe. They dragged him off the train and into what used to be Independence Hall. This all would have been so much easier if Charlie had just let Jeremy capture him. But, no, she had to rescue him. Only to have him get captured by a bunch of soldiers who didn't know the first thing about him. Strangers bringing him back to Bass; it was just embarrassing. Coming back with Jeremy would have at least had some pride in it.

They shoved him through the doors and he just managed to keep his feet. Not exactly the entrance he wanted. He watched Bass stand from his desk. He looked different than Miles remembered; there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before, something about the stoop of his shoulders, and the dark circles under his eyes.

"Release him," Bass ordered.

"Sir?" the young man who'd shoved him through the door questioned.

"Take off the cuffs."

"But sir - "

Bass shot the young man through the head before he could finish his question.

Miles smirked and shook his head. "A bit much, don't you think?"

When Bass turned his cold gaze on him, Miles almost wished he'd kept his mouth shut. There was a hard edge to his look that Miles had never had directed at him and he found he wasn't too sure he ever wanted to see that look directed at him again. Not that he didn't deserve it.

"I was going to have to repeat myself a third time." Bass moved from his desk to stand directly in front of Miles. "I forgive once, Miles. Not twice."

Bass took a step back and Miles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He watched as Bass assessed the room.

"If Miles Matheson, General of the Monroe Militia, wanted to kill me, he wouldn't come in handcuffs. I expected him to be treated with respect; he's earned that much from you."

Miles watched the men shift uncomfortably under the weight of Bass' announcement.

"Remove the handcuffs and leave us."

The soldier nearest Miles fumbled to do as he was commanded as quickly as possible. Once his wrists were free, Miles rolled his wrists, trying not to show how sore they were.

"Thanks."

"I should have you killed."

"Yeah, I know."

From his place by the door, Miles watched Bass' movements. Bass' eyes were fixed, intense, but he carried himself like a feral dog, one who had been kicked once too often. Miles didn't know what to do, didn't know what Bass wanted, how he would react.

"Where were you?" It wasn't a question; it was an accusation.

Miles kept his voice as even as possible. "Chicago. I ran a bar."

"You ran a bar."

Bass spun on his heel, hands behind his back, and Miles could see the tension in his neck as he almost literally held himself back. Miles couldn't figure out what had Bass so on edge. He found himself scanning the room, looking for whatever had Bass so tense.

"Yeah."

"Glad to see you're making something of yourself in the world."

There was so much derision in the comment. Miles bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to keep quiet. Why the fuck did Bass care if he was out running a bar or drinking himself to death? None of it affected his control of the area; Miles had seen to that. His whole goal had been to disappear and remain under the radar. Not that Charlie and company would ever understand that. What had Ben been thinking? Why would he send Charlie to him? Didn't he know it wouldn't end well? He wasn't lying when he told Charlie they'd all end up on pikes.

Bass spun around to face him. "When were you planning on coming home?"

Miles furrowed his brow. "I wasn't planning on coming back, Bass."

His head whipped to the side under the force of Bass' blow. He hadn't seen it coming. Miles slid his tongue out to taste the blood. He figured in the scheme of things, he probably had that one coming, but still Bass had never been like this before.

"You just left," Bass began as he stepped forward into Miles' space.

Wary now, Miles kept his eyes locked on Bass. He adjusted his stance, squared his shoulders, held his arms loose at his sides; he'd give Bass one hit. He paid attention to the way the muscles in Bass' arms were coiled tightly, like a snake preparing to strike. He wouldn’t be caught unaware again.

"I don't hear anything from you for thirty-two months." Bass moved further into Miles' personal space. "Why didn't you just come home?"

Miles swallowed thickly. Bass' breath was warm against his cheek. Miles closed his eyes as Bass brought his hand up and caressed his cheek.

"You don’t have to be afraid of me. I'd never hurt you."

Miles wondered who he was trying to convince. Right now, he thought Bass just might try to hurt him.

"You didn't have to come home this way. You didn't have to be brought in here like a prisoner."

"I didn't intend to come back at all, Bass. If you kept Neville on a shorter leash, I wouldn't be here."

Bass moved away so quickly Miles stumbled forward. Bass went to stand in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back. The sun was going down; Miles moved to the desk, found the matches and walked around the room, lighting the lanterns. He stared at Bass for a long, waiting for him to make the next move. When he didn't, Miles poured himself a drink. He took a large swallow of the whiskey and it burned pleasantly as it slid down his throat. Miles raised his glass in mock salute; Bass still wasn't facing him. This was dumb; they hadn't talked about anything and no one was dead. They were just in some odd standoff and it was driving Miles out of his mind.

"You still haven't told me why I'm not dead. You could have ordered me shot on sight. That's the way I wrote it."

"You really think I wanted you back just so I could shoot you?" Miles asked, his back still to Miles.

Miles shrugged. "I would."

It was brief, but Miles saw Bass' spine stiffen. Maybe he should go back to choosing his words carefully.

"Why did you leave?"

Miles poured himself another drink. After a beat, he poured one for Bass, too.

"Let's not do this, Sebastian."

Bass stormed towards him. Miles crossed his arms in front of him, eyes narrowed on Bass' approach.

"You," Bass said as he poked Miles' chest, "left in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye and you think you get to come back without an explanation?"

Miles exhaled deeply through his nose. He picked up his glass and took another large swallow, hoping the burn of the liquor would erase the burn in his chest. Bass was wearing on his last nerve. He didn't owe anyone anything. Miles took another swig of the whiskey. He was back, and he wasn't leaving. Not again. He hadn't known that when he came stumbling through the door, but it was true. Standing here, in front of Bass, even spitting fire as he was, Miles knew he couldn't leave. Couldn't kill him either, as tempting as it was at this particular moment and Bass already said he wasn't going to have him killed.

"I'm staying, Bass. That's all you need to know."

Every muscle in Bass' body was tight as he stepped back, and turned his back on Miles. Miles dropped his arms and set the now empty glass back on the desk. Bass spun on his heel, poised to strike, but Miles was ready this time. He easily deflected Bass' attack. He changed his grip on Bass' arm, twisted it behind him and forced him down across the desk. Miles leaned over Bass to whisper in his ear.

"Do not," Miles pulled Bass' arm tighter, "take a swing at me again unless you intend to kill me."

Breathing hard, Miles released him and took several steps back from the desk. He needed to put some space between himself and Bass before he did something he'd regret.

At first, Bass didn't move. Miles almost went to him, but stopped himself; he knew he hadn't hurt him. He watched as Bass slowly righted himself. His hand was shaking a bit as he reached for the glass of whiskey Miles had poured. Bass tossed the whole thing back. When he set the glass down, he wasn't shaking anymore.

"Why can't you just tell me why you left? And now I'm supposed to believe you're back? Your word used to mean everything to me. Three years ago, I would have believed anything you told me, without question. But now? I don't know who the hell you are."

Miles felt each question like a physical blow.

"How did it all fall apart so fast?" Miles wasn't sure who he was asking.

Bass didn't say anything, not that Miles expected him to, not that there was really an answer.

"When we started this we were helping people, Bass. We were protecting people who couldn't protect themselves. We were giving order to chaos. But now? Now what do you have? You have an empire built on fear and pain and death."

"You think this is _my_ empire?" Bass' words were barely above a whisper.

Miles tracked him as Bass took measured steps closer until they were practically nose-to-nose.

" _You_ built this empire. Fifteen years ago _you_ decided to start killing people."

"I was saving him."

"You shot two people in the head, Miles."

"I thought it was the right thing at the time."

Bass' eyes were hard as he looked at Miles. "You don't get to stand in judgment over me. You made the militia."

"You were right there with me, Sebastian."

 "You became the God of a new empire. It was amazing to watch. You did what needed to be done, and you did it with passion. How could I do anything but get swept up with it?"

Bass moved back. He paced the room, hands clasped behind his back. Miles watched him. Noted the way he carried himself. Even in here, when it was just the two of them Bass was the Republic.

"Do you know what it was like? Watching you turn into the Commanding General of the Republic? Watching you kill people, watching you become an expert in killing?" Bass turned to face him, an open look on his face. "I've never been as good at it as you."

Miles moved to Bass, forced him to stop the incessant pacing. He gently cupped his face. "I never wanted you to be. I saw what it did to you, watched you change. You used to be the one to hold me back, to tell me to stop." Miles' eyes turned hard and he moved away from Bass. "Then you just gave up. There was no one to stop me anymore and everything just became so much more complicated."

"All of this was your idea, Miles, and you left. Made me the name of your empire and then left me alone to deal with it all. What did you think would happen?"

Miles didn't have an answer. He didn't know what he'd expected when he'd left. He just did. He ducked out in the middle of the night without telling anyone. Like a coward, without saying goodbye. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't blame Bass; deep down, he knew he never really had. It was on him. Just as Jeremy had told the rebels, he _was_ the "Commanding General of the Monroe Militia, damn founding father of the Republic", and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to change that.

"Come here," Miles said.

He watched Bass hesitate for the briefest of moments before he walked over to him. Miles reached out and gripped the back of Bass' neck, forcing their eyes to meet.

"I'm sorry."

The words weren't enough, they would never be enough, but Miles just hoped Bass could read everything he wanted to say in his eyes. Miles was way past the point where he could turn back, had been before he left. He'd meant what he told Bass; he wasn't leaving, he couldn’t.

Bass' eyes weren't cold anymore, not like they had been when he'd first come through the door. They weren't warm, he didn't deserve that, but they weren't cold and that was something. Miles pulled Bass to him and captured his lips in a kiss. He'd meant for it to be gentle, coaxing, but Bass had other ideas. He felt Bass bite his lip, reopening the recent cut. Miles growled as he tasted his own blood. He changed the kiss; forcing his tongue into Bass' mouth, nipped at Bass' lips until he was moaning against him.

Miles wrapped one arm around Bass' chest while the other held his neck, his thumb stroking his Adam's apple. He walked them to the desk and swept it clear. He vaguely heard everything crash to the ground before he forced Bass down on the desk. Miles stood over him, taking in the sight of Bass in his full military dress, the leather jacket over the flat-collared blue shirt, the metal "M"'s reflecting the lantern light. Bass reached for the buttons on his jacket, but Miles batted his hands away. He bent forward and kissed Bass roughly, his fingers working the buttons free. Once he had the shirt open, he hauled Bass up, shoved the material off his shoulders and tossed it carelessly to the ground.

Palm flat against Bass' chest, Miles pressed him back down against the desk. He slid his hand up to circle Bass' neck before he leaned forward and sucked Bass' nipple into his mouth. He rocked his hips against Bass' as Miles bit his nipple. He nipped his way across Bass' chest, feeling the way Bass writhed beneath him. He slid up Bass' body and kissed him long and deep, forcing his tongue in his mouth.

Miles stood up and tore his jacket and shirt off, tossing them on the floor with Bass' discarded uniform. He watched Bass' eyes trail over his torso, watched them travel below his waist, where his erection was straining against his trousers. Miles reached down and unbuttoned his trousers, and let the material fall to his ankles. Bass sat up and Miles took a step back so Bass could slide to his knees. When Bass took Miles' dick in hand, Miles sucked in a breath through his teeth. Bass darted forward and licked the tip teasingly before stroking it with his hand. Miles groaned when Bass finally took his dick in his mouth; he was warm and wet and hollowed his cheeks just like Miles remembered.

Then Bass scraped his teeth against Miles' dick; he jerked, not expecting the pain. It wasn't a teasing brush of teeth against his sensitive flesh. Miles figured Bass was a breath away from taking a healthy bite out of his dick. Before he could confirm or deny his theory, Miles grabbed a handful of Bass' hair and tilted his head back. He watched the emotions flit across Bass' face, the lust, the hurt, the confusion, the pain. Miles grabbed his dick and put it back in Bass' mouth, thrust it in and out of Bass. He wouldn't last long if he kept this up, and he wanted to come buried deep in Bass' ass. Slowly, he pulled his dick from Bass' mouth and bent over to kiss him. He brought his hand up to Bass' neck, rubbing his thumb lightly along his pulse point before pulling him to his feet. Miles reached down, undid Bass' trousers and shoved them down his legs.

Bass stepped out of his trousers as he turned to face the desk. Miles ran his hands down Bass' back until they rested on his ass. Miles palmed the flesh, savoring the feel of it once more. He gave a swift slap to one cheek before soothing it with his palm. He ran his hands back up Bass' back, pushing him down onto the desk. Miles molded himself to Bass' back, slowly rocking his dick against his ass, teasing them both. He kissed the back of Bass' neck before he stood, trailing his fingers teasingly down Bass' spine. For a moment, he just stared down at Bass, naked, ass up, waiting for him. He was struck by how much he'd missed this, not just the sex, but having someone who needed as much as he needed. He'd been lonely in Chicago.

Miles bit his ass, smiling as he heard Bass whine in the back of his throat. Miles helped Bass roll over onto his back so that Miles could take Bass' dick in his mouth. He felt it brush the back of his throat and swallowed, repeating the action as Bass thrashed above him. Miles moved his hand up, pressing it against Bass' torso to hold him still. Miles continued to suck him deep and slow. When Bass took his fingers and sucked them into his mouth, Miles pulled off him and groaned. He closed his eyes, feeling Bass' tongue swirl around his fingers, and tried to compose himself.

Miles opened the top right drawer, and rummaged around until he found the jar. He smiled, pleased to find the oil was still in the desk. He pulled it out and set it on the desk next to Bass' hip. Miles pulled his fingers from Bass' mouth and rubbed them against Bass' hole, allowing his saliva to wet the puckered hole. Slowly, he pushed just the tip of his index finger inside, feeling Bass stretch around him. He was tight, so fucking tight. Bass hadn't been with anyone. He hadn't either, and he hadn't expected Bass to have been with someone, but the realization still made his heart clench painfully. He pulled his finger out and slid up Bass' body, capturing his mouth in a possessive kiss. He bit and nipped more than anything else. Bass tilted his head to the side and Miles latched onto the corded muscle of his neck. He bit hard enough to sting, to leave a mark, and felt as well as heard Bass moan beneath him.

Miles slid back down Bass' body and coated his index finger with oil before pushing it in Bass' hole. He felt the muscles clench down around him and he brought his free hand up to rest on Bass' chest, rubbing soothing patterns along his torso. Slowly, Miles pushed his finger in further, feeling the tight muscles move to make room for him. He could imagine how it would feel, having Bass' tight hole squeeze him, and he bit his lip as the sensations coursed through his body. Miles pulled out slowly, savoring Bass' sound of protest. He coated both his first and middle fingers before easing both past the ring of tight muscle. There was more resistance this time as Miles slowly worked his fingers further into Bass' tight hole. He pushed to the second knuckle before slowly pulling his fingers out, then slowly pushed back in, setting a steady rhythm.

Miles movements were unhurried as pulled his fingers free and coated three fingers with oil. This time, he pushed all the way in before stilling, allowing Bass a chance to get used to the feel of all three fingers filling him. Miles began to move his fingers in shallow thrusts, just missing his prostate. Miles had never seen anything hotter in his life; Bass spread out beneath him, eyes blown with lust, hands gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles were white as Miles fucked him open with his fingers. Miles bent forward and bit one of Bass' nipples while his finger brushed against his prostate. Bass' entire body bowed at the sensation and Miles smiled around the nipple he still had in his mouth. He released it with a wet sound and pulled his fingers from Bass' body.

They'd long ago used their supply of condoms, which Miles didn't miss. He enjoyed the way Bass felt against his skin. Miles covered his dick with more of the oil and gave himself a few rough strokes before settling in front of Bass. He braced himself, hands on Bass' hips before he pushed the head of his dick in. He caught Bass' gaze and held it as he pushed himself in at an agonizingly slow pace. When he was fully seated, Miles paused, mesmerized by Bass' eyes. All the hardness from early was completely gone. He didn't deserve it. By rights, Bass should still be shooting fire at him, but he wasn't. Miles began to move then; he rocked his hips slowly watching the pleasure play across Bass' face. He pulled out and pulled Bass into his arms, kissing him deeply, hand griping the back of his neck before turning him to face the table.

Miles pushed Bass down on the table and reached down to stroke his dick a few times before he pushed his dick back into Bass' ass. His grip on Bass' hips was tight, his fingers leaving depressions in his flesh. Miles thrust fast and deep, using his grip to pull Bass closer, force himself deeper. Miles brought a hand up and splayed it in the middle of Bass' back as he continued to thrust into him. Bass continued to moan beneath him. Miles slid both hands up Bass' back until they gripped his shoulders, he squeezed his shoulders as he thrust deep, both of them moaning. Bass propped himself up on his forearm and twisted to look up at Miles. Miles bent forward and wrapped an arm around Bass' chest, holding him as they kissed. Miles' pace wavered as he wrapped both arms around Bass. He buried his head against Bass' neck, tasting the saltiness of his sweat against his tongue. He was close, but he was determined to bring Bass off first.

Miles kept one arm around Bass, but moved the other one to the table to brace himself as he snapped his hips faster. Miles kissed Bass' neck before nipping the same spot, each of his thrusts hitting Bass' prostate. Miles felt it when Bass neared his orgasm. Bass' hands wrapped around Miles' arm where it was braced against the desk, his head bent forward. Miles moved his hand from around Bass to his shoulder as he continued to pound into Bass. Bass came with a cry that should have brought the entire militia pouring into the room. Miles thrust a few more times before he came with his own cry, which he muffled against Bass' neck.

They stayed like that, panting, sweaty, sticky for a few moments. As messed up as it was, this was where Miles belonged. Slowly he pulled out, and used Bass' shirt to clean them both up. Gently, he pulled Bass into his arms and kissed him languidly.

Miles blinked awake the next morning, early morning light streaming in through the slit in the curtains. Bass was wrapped around him, head burrowed in his neck, a soft smile playing on his lips. Miles stared at the ceiling. He was still a coward. A better man would walk outside and order the men to shoot him. He was too selfish to die. There was still a pike out there with his name on it and one day soon his head would be on it.

 **~FIN~**  


End file.
